<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Close the curtains by CravenWyvern</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467314">Close the curtains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern'>CravenWyvern</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [93]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Don't Starve (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Implied Relationships, Other characters mentioned - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:29:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27467314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [93]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Close the curtains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A fall breeze drifted through the trees, the great pines shivering as if imitating an inhaled breath, ripe birchnuts fallen to the yellowing grass and berry laden bushes thronged about still ponds, untouched and alone.</p><p>The great creaking behemoth before him groaned, static clouds of magic and energy swirling in patterns of ever complex fractals, and Maxwell stood there before it, silent and watching. All around him the air of the Constant breathed, quietly as rabbits went about their business a few feet away from him, a butterfly passing by and then drifting to land upon a lone flower.</p><p>A dandelion, Maxwell thought, eyeing it a moment before his gaze drifted back up to the construction of wood and stone and cracked thulecite, glimmering moon glass and harder moonstone, wires and cogs and pillars and stretches of material. The sheer force of energy pooling within its middle licked about the sides, left behind glimmering residue that dissipated quickly and quietly, only a mass of too many colors to know and understand with the naked eye.</p><p>Higgsbury had been so proud of his portal.</p><p>(So damn proud)</p><p>The clearing it resided in was empty. The twisted remains of the old portal, of thorny vines and hanging heavy roses and that large twisting, ever watching eye was mostly grown over by now, a collapsed heap of marble stone and covering foliage, grasses and weeds growing through the cracks and taking it all back into the Constants earth. Nothing much but a mound now, and Maxwell slowly glanced over to where the trees had started to grow all about it, birch and turning orange red in the fall season. Other than that nothing else was left right here, packed bags lugged onwards.</p><p>Camp was only a few minutes away, shielded by a curving forest of pines to protect from encroaching winds, but it was empty now. No one was left who would want to go back there.</p><p> </p><p>Wurt had cried when she had been told the news. The little merm had clung to Winona and clasped her fin claws to Wickerbottoms old palms, warbling sobs as they tried to reassure her, calm her down as it finally clicked in her cursed little skull that her friends were leaving.</p><p>("Maybe not forever." Maxwell had overheard as he had kept an eye on the nearby spider nest, shoes sinking deep into the swamps marsh and the buzzing of mosquitoes rising awake from close ponds, listening as the old woman had changed her tone to something far more friendly, warmer than he's ever really heard her.)</p><p>("Perhaps we can visit sometime, kiddo. That sound good to you?" Wurt had gargled and bubbled froth from her gills, too much going on for her as her face glistened with tears and slimy fish mucus, overwhelmed by the news and the reassurances from her most favorite of people. She had enough in her to nod, whimper pitifully as she pressed her face to Wickerbottoms chest and cling a tight hug, and Maxwell had set his jaw, arms crossed and waiting it out.)</p><p>(They shouldn't have lied to her, he thought to himself.)</p><p>Wortox had been concerned, voice and lilting tone softening, pulling away from extreme rhythms as the gravity of the news had finally hit him. The imp had to say goodbye to the children, a sad crooked smile given to Webber and Wendy, a whistling odd look to silent accompanying WX78 that only briefly had the android letting Wortox brush a clawed palm to their shoulder, and a last playful push and shove with Woodie, waxing poetic of how much he'd miss butting heads with the moon crazed Moose.</p><p>(Wilson had been saddened in his goodbye, awkwardly stating he'd miss the warmth the Krampi produced as near living thermal stone and his red fur shed that helped conduct so much of his science; Wortox found this amusing and crowed a few embarrassing achievements that he believed of Wilson, including but not limited to how well the man's claws could scratch away that itch right between the imps shoulder blades and down the middle of his back. The teasing nature had helped lighten the mood a bit.)</p><p>(But the look Maxwell had been given was one that didn't seem as if to say goodbye; Wortox frowned, a tilt to the head and upturn of the lips that twitched in the corners of his mouth, as if just barely hiding a secret, a hilarious secret from him, and only gave him the smallest of nods.)</p><p>Wormwood didn't seem to understand. The concept of a world outside the ever encompassing Constant seemed a bit above them, and they tilted their head at the news, vines and sprouting leaves billowing up like hackles as they reacted to the tone in the air but not the actual words. Wilson had tried to break the news softly, and in as few big words as possible, but even when WX78 came in to boom out a loud "WE ARE LEAVING, YOU ARE STAYING." the living plant just couldn't seem to grasp the concept. They seemed to assume that the others were going to another plane, redlands or Quagmire or even inner chapter worlds, but anything outside that, any concept of Earth, had no bearing to them.</p><p>(Wormwood had been greatly confused, sticky green jaw agape as a few of the others took turns giving them a hug, Wes especially trying to sign to them that this was the last they would see of each other, but they signed back a hesitant <i>"I see you later, have fun"</i>, vines coiling and curling closer and closer to their main mass as the nervousness started to get to them.)</p><p>(They hadn't understood what was going on, and no one could figure out how to explain it to them.)</p><p>(When the others were gearing up to head back to camp, melancholic and quiet at the misunderstood goodbye, Maxwell had ambled his way over to the still confused living plant, swaying green vines and leaves as they looked every which way at a complete loss. It was far easier, explaining under his breath that they were all to meet something that was like Death, that none of them would be coming back to this place.)</p><p>(It took a moment, for Wormwood to recognize what this meant, what their friends were talking of when going somewhere but never returning when they have lived all their life in a place that always returned near everything, but when they did the glow of their eyes had shined bright, blinding before going dull and faded and they had burst into tearless tears, latching onto Maxwell with coiling tight vines and shaking stick limbs.)</p><p>(He hadn't meant for that to happen, hadn't intended for that reaction, but the others had heard and thus the whole experience was drawn out even longer.)</p><p>(Wormwood hadn't wanted their friends to go.)</p><p>The three natives to the Constant had said their tearful, or at least mournful goodbyes, and that was that.</p><p>(There was that discomforting swell to having lied as he had to them, but Maxwell rolled his shoulders and shoved the feeling to the back of his mind and out; it didn't mean anything to him, not anymore, and not ever again.)</p><p>(They had livable lives here. This was their home, and that differentiated them from the rest of the once pawns.)</p><p>(They will learn to be happy once more.)</p><p>Slowly, feeling a great weight eat at his limbs, a blank emptiness yawning open as he moved, Maxwell raised up his hand to rest his palm upon the machine's only lever. Stuck in the middle, in stasis, and the abyss of energy and sparking magic called, tugged, and was all too full of empty promises.</p><p>For a moment, he could have sworn it smelled of the theater. In the faintest of backgrounds there was the hush of a crowd, the audience holding its breath.</p><p>And then Maxwell pushed the lever up, the squeak as it went in the direction it hasn't taken as of yet, and with that the portal's whole frame shuddered. The very ground quivered under his feet, a shiver of the Constants skin that made the yellow grasses rise and fall, the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and send buzzing pins and needles up and down his arms, traveling his spine and making him hold his breath at the burst of numb magics.</p><p>The swirling fractals slowly faded, dissipated away, and the portals emptying frame groaned and shuddered but it stayed upright as the static finally disintegrated into the charged air.</p><p>Which then slowly flattened, and Maxwell pulled his hand away, arm dropping once more to his side as he looked upon the silent portal.</p><p>One can hear the Constants breath now, without that sucking mass of interdimensional energy getting in the way.</p><p>After a few moments, there was a twitter of bird song nearby, picked up and sung proud, before the flutter of wings and off the red bird went, Maxwell watching it as it dived between the forest trees, out and away.</p><p>Perhaps, if things were different, he'd be sour about all this, bitter and agitated. But for now the portal was dead to the Constant and that connection was severed, that string clipped back into normalcy.</p><p>He's told himself, over and over, the concentration of powerful energies would have torn this plane apart, leaked into the other world and perhaps even farther. Not something Higgsbury would have wanted.</p><p>(The man wouldn't have predicted such a thing anyway; he didn't stick around long enough to realize the possibility)</p><p>Now, with the ensuing autumn silence, the quiet noiselessness of wandering rabbits and butterflies, there was only one thing left to do.</p><p>The Codex Umbra was silent when he retrieved it from his inner jacket, pages leaking drips of nightmare fuel and near nothing else. it didn't have anything more to say to him, to anyone, especially now with what it knew.</p><p>(A part of him had almost stopped Higgsbury, for only a moment, just a few seconds to press the book into the man's clawed hands and ask him of this one last favor)</p><p>(In the end, he had held his tongue, ignored the tomes whispering cries, and watched on)</p><p>Carefully opening it up, pages drifting lazily as more nightmare oils pooled from its spine, dipping his hand and cupping the fuel in his palm, Maxwell didn't even need to utter a command for it to start working the way he willed it to. The brief tug in the back of his mind, the smooth coil from the shadow at his feet only to solidify and rise up from the ground, and before him Maxwell faced his own oily shadow doppelganger.</p><p>He hardly gave it a moments glance, but the energy to force a snarl or even some form of self hatred just wasn't there anymore; a quick wave of his hand, a dismissing flick almost, and off it went through the yellowing grass, not a moment of hesitation.</p><p>Two more he rose from his shadow, ignoring that shivering slide of fractures that cracked their way through his mind at their presence, and he dismissed them in much the same way, allowed them to join their brethren by the inert portal. Even as the land darkened unnaturally around him, color seeping away and cooling low even with midday sun, Maxwell kept himself still, standing straight and making himself finish the last of this.</p><p>He was almost done, after all.</p><p>It was when the shadow clones set into the portal that he had to admit to himself some things, quietly turning away and tightening his jaw to the lump in his throat, the knot in his chest. To stare blankly out across the field, rabbit holes and bushes heavy with unpicked berries, the few days grace giving the plants a rest, it was a bit easier to weather through the ensuing sound of destruction behind him.</p><p>In his mind's eye the shadows were quick, precise, tearing away and ripping through the stone and marble and wood, tugging heaps of wiring and cracking through the glass with ease, no hesitance, no regret even tugging on their limbs. One of the reasons why he wasn't joining them, after all, and Maxwell squared his shoulders, held his breath in the tense surge of feeling, eyes cast downwards to the dry earth.</p><p>Acknowledging it would hurt more, so he barred such recognition and grit his jaw stubbornly. To wait out the clones work required a fair bit of time, but they moved fast, efficient, and in no time at all the ground under his feet shuddered minutely and the collapse of something wholly and utterly magnificent thundered out across the silence, a final death keel, equal parts triumphant and melancholic.</p><p>Something in his chest stung, knotted up at the ramifications, but Maxwell had already sorted through this, hadn't he, already made his decision and understood all that he was to do.</p><p>He has made his peace.</p><p>(Someone had to do it, he convinced himself, someone had to stay, give it the last finishing flourish)</p><p>(The others hadn't known this, and at the time he just didn't have it in himself to tell them, give them that premonition)</p><p>(And, did they really expect him to follow suit anyhow? If anyone was to stay, it was glaringly obvious who it would be.)</p><p>Someone had to be here to close the curtains, after all.</p><p>Still, the clones wandered back to him and drifted behind his back, a vein of uncertain anxiety that had sneaked from his will into their splintered forms, and after a moment of listening to their dull, hysterical chattering whispers, speaking his own closed off thoughts aloud, Maxwell straightened himself back up, brushed the imaginary dust off his suit and sucked in a breath as deep as he could get without the chronic rattle. It silenced the lot of them, when he turned on his heel, and briefly he caught sight of Higgsbury's successful, ruined portal before averting his eyes and instead scowling at the thronging shadows.</p><p>A part of him wished to dispel them, dismiss into cooling piles of nightmare oils and that spiced stench of Them and Their shadows, but that would only slow him down.</p><p>He still had need of them, and with that he heaved a slow, rattling sigh, and his willpower had the three straighten up, line up, and have every intention to follow him.</p><p>Maxwell turned away from the ruins and it's already settled dust clouds, the glitter of moon glass shards and the moonstone reflecting lights and wires, and his feet started to take him away from the scene, back to the empty camp, shadows dogging his heels.</p><p>He had work to do there, too, and it was already evening. All morning had been spent in preparation, excited chatter and babble as he had solemnly watched, and it was good, that everyone was distracted enough to not bother him all too much.</p><p>His attention had been on the Codex, prodding it just a bit more, pushing against its own sentient will and forcing the answers he seeked from its pages.</p><p>(It didn't have much, never truly did, but it validated the destructive nature of a bridge between worlds, bemoaned its fate, bemoaned the weakened wills of Them and the genocide it fully believed the humans would enact upon the Constant in wicked revenge)</p><p>(Maxwell had, indeed, laughed at this, or at least darkly chuckled; he did not care to inform the Codex that the others did not even think of such things, and in the end this would only be a tiny blip of history to Them and this horrid little world)</p><p>(The others thought of home. Perhaps, if given more time, they'd think more of this, use their mortal brains and recognize the ramifications, but Higgsburys discovery had been too sudden, too fast, too surprising)</p><p>(And Wilson worried that it may not last long, this loophole)</p><p>(Maxwell, once again, did not care to inform anyone of the exact knowledge of it all; they all seemed too...happy, to down their mood with reality)</p><p>(Let them go home, he decided. He'll clean up the mess left behind.)</p><p>And, with all that they have done, there wasn't truly much else to wipe away, was there?</p><p>The tents and emptied chests and wood carved furniture all burned nicely, as Maxwell stepped back enough from the smoke and tossed the torch into the ensuing blaze. The shadow doppelgangers had done their due diligence, torn and tossed and smashed all they could grab with their oil infused talons, and now they backed up with him, crowded behind him, silent for once as they watched all of what humanity has worked so hard for in the Constant burst into flame. The Codex weeped nightmare fuel, just as silent, but it had nothing on its blank pages.</p><p>He had nothing he wished to say to it either, not anymore.</p><p>(But, he wasn't going to throw it into the fire, no.)</p><p>A bit on the outskirts the fire had reached the partially deconstructed alchemy engines, the machines and half invented machinations that couldn't fit into packs or bags or shoddy made luggage cases, untouched by shadow hands in mild, vain reverence. The metal and wires sparked, popped as the blaze really started to get going, and the smoke pouring out from the main alchemy engine was a bit worrisome, enough to make Maxwell and his shadowing shadows back off into the safer trees for the moment.</p><p>The flames wouldn't reach the windbreaker, not these tall, long living pines, but the smaller cropping of birches were in more danger on the opposite side, the flames already smouldering through the bits and bobs of structure, useless and useful both, it did not matter to a fire.</p><p>As the blaze grew larger, smoke thicker and curling in the evening darkened sky, Maxwell was doubtful that even the firestarter would have found the scene beautiful. The ash and smoke from both mechanical and magical structures burning into melted slags and embers of charcoal tainted the very air with falling ash.</p><p>Maxwell waited a little while longer, watching, dark scowl set and stiff, closed off in the face of the hot flames.</p><p>At least the camp was far enough away from the natives to not give cause for alarm. He would not be interrupted in his last duties.</p><p>Eventually one of the side alchemy machines started to really make unnerving sounds, creaks as the flames wreathed its metal gut and bulged from its ports, and Maxwell hissed in a stifling breath of smoke and ash before turning away.</p><p>He was able to keep the coughs held back until he was well past the trees, the shadows silent as they followed behind him, worn shoes clacking against the cobblestone path, manmade and set by those who could only be categorized as long gone now.</p><p>(It had taken weeks, flattening the ground, setting the tiles and stones, smoothing the fixtures as to prevent any accidental tripping. The viking and strongman had worked days at a time, hauling the supplies as the scattered few others worked on insetting and fixing everything up.</p><p>(Maxwell remembered being dragged along, urged on by the excited chatter of the spider child, the bubbling of Wurt, the softer idle conversation from his niece and the quiet low echoes of her ghostly sister. While they had set the actual stones, the new youth addition had helped Wolfgang and Wigfrid with the hauling; it was almost obnoxiously unsurprising, how Walter looked up to the strongest of the camps lot, the boisterous and brave.)</p><p>(The boy had been happy to be finally going back home, still not quite understanding how or why he was here to begin with, the ramifications of such a thing. He shouldn't have ended up here in the first place.)</p><p>(None of them should have)</p><p>Now, coughing ragged and dry above these smooth set stones, knowing the little sign Webber had constructed and Wendy had dutifully written upon with her picture perfect handwriting, the one that named the road some childish little name and had all the names of those who worked on it set underneath, knowing it was burning into an unrecognizable husk just made him squeeze his eyes shut, hands on his knees as he leaned forward and caught his breath, shadows piling up behind him in false company. There were the faintest of popping sound, the flames greedily eating through all that it could catch, and those machines back there were ticking time bombs.</p><p>He was done here.</p><p>Nothing but ash and charred skeletal structure that would be left, which Maxwell was sure the Constant would take care of easily enough. For all of how beaten down They were now, it was fairly superficial.</p><p>Evidence of the pawns time here will not last long without upkeep.</p><p>Maxwell slowly straightened up, roughly cleared his dry throat, the faintest hint of soreness gracing him as he swallowed the last of the coughs, and he brushed himself off idly as he started to walk, the shadows silent, keeping Their thoughts to Themselves. A few hints of ash smeared the lapels of his suit, spotted on his worn thin gloves, and he gave his hand a passing look before shaking his head and leaving it be.</p><p>(Willow had been sullen, in the beginning. Kicking up dirt clouds, smouldering twigs and grasses on the outskirts and smearing ashes across her skin, rubbing it thick into her skirt and clothes. She hadn't wanted to leave.)</p><p>(Not at first, anyway. A last passive aggressive temper tantrum in the fire pit, letting the flames burn holes through her clothing and pouting the entire time, before the old woman and Wigfrid had finally convinced her to come out and talk.)</p><p>(In the end Maxwell had watched as, with the viking woman's encouragement, Willow started to pack, started to get involved with the conversations, grow excited as Webber bounced around and twittered and chirped up a storm, and she answered their questions of Earth, of what it was like.)</p><p>(And she didn't once mention a single negative thing about it, surrounded by the others and their own overwhelming happiness. Maxwell knew peer pressure when he saw it, but he stayed out of it.)</p><p>(It was for the better, that she left with the lot of them. Willow hadn't even glanced back once, when she faced the portals pull.)</p><p>(This place has never been her heaven, not truly)</p><p>Walking this path meant passing through one of the thicker forests, the trees cut down and swept enough from the sides to give a clear straightaway, and Maxwell put his hands in his pockets, another exhale still fringing from the smoke of earlier. If he turned around now, looked back, he'd see only the faintest plume of blackened smoke rising, then dissipating through the Constants ever churning airs. </p><p>He did not turn around, eyes facing forward, and above him there was the beginning of overcast clouds, going gray as the sun dipped from the high point of its fall arc. Perhaps it would rain, smother the leftovers and clear the groundwork for whatever was next.</p><p>A sign was coming up ahead, wooden and not as crooked as it could be, sturdy make and thick cut lines in an image that was easy to identify.</p><p>A sail, and the crests of waves carved into the wood, pointed directly forward with the cobble path.</p><p>Maxwell slowed his step, came to an even slower halt before the structure, little hint of civilization that it was.</p><p>He knew he wouldn't be able to get all of them, of course, not even with the few shadows he could bare to summon at his side. The Constants mainland was large, twisting, and he was not going to go through the effort of walking the lunar islands or sniffing out the caves for structure and empty campfire pits just to pull apart and destroy.</p><p>…Maxwell did not think he had the time for such a goal. The Constant will take care of the stragglers, he was sure.</p><p>Raising a hand, idly running his hand across the carved face of the sign, ash smeared in passing marks in his wake. The wood was well smoothed down, set into the ground from firm, experienced hands, and Maxwell narrowed his eyes for a moment.</p><p>He felt a bit slowed down now, thoughts not quite as quick paced as he had been back at the portal, but he was past the hard part, had to be. There was no cause for rush or alarm.</p><p>Still, it didn't stop him from taking in a steady breath and kicking in the signs thin staked structure.</p><p>(It couldn't be said that Woodie had been excited, not really, but he was happy. Not as loud as Wigfrid or Wolfgang, those two so damnably excited as they packed and hauled and ran around getting things set and ready at Higgsburys urging, but Woodie had been smiling and had helped those too slow or hesitant with their packing up.)</p><p>(He had, very briefly, actually brushed Maxwell by, an unreadable look on his face when he had asked if there was anything he'd like help with)</p><p>(Maxwell had flashed something that might have been a snarky grin, more of a curdling grimace, and had made something up about not having much he wanted to bring back.)</p><p>(He wasn't nearly as good at fibbing as he used to be, or as good at hiding his underlining motives, but then Wolfgang was calling over for some help packing one of the bigger chests and Maxwell was left to his own business.)</p><p>(Lucy had followed the man, through the portal. After the hugs and laughter had subsided, a surprisingly firm gripped handshake given to Maxwell that had, for a brief moment, turned into a short, powerful, and unspoken hug that left Maxwell a bit unsteady, physically and emotionally-)</p><p>(-when Woodie had stood there, silhouetted by the portals grand churning magics, the axe had stayed firm in his grip. Nothing had slipped back through the portal; she had chosen to go with him)</p><p>The wood was of solid make, and it took him a bit of childish stomping and jumping up and down in breaking most of it to smaller pieces, but once the carvings were incomprehensible Maxwell took a step back, panting a bit from the exertion. His three shadows hovered a few feet back, away from him, watching cautiously, waiting, but in the end all he did was glare down at those broken pieces and shove away the twisting, knotting feeling that was so steadily growing in his chest. The forest surrounding him and this trail will take back what it had given, so he did not waste time in picking up the pieces, or finding more supplies for a torch to set it alight.</p><p>A small pile of debris on the road, and said road already had weeds and grasses fringing the edges, threading through the stones.</p><p>The Constant will finish what he has started, Maxwell knew, and he folded his arms about his chest and started walking once again, this time at a steadier pace as his shadows hurried to catch up.</p><p>Ahead was the shoreline, where those swells of water reached up against the cliffs, and a little lower than that was the dock. Walking down the thinning path now, careful to watch his step, the ocean's winds whipped the high reaches of the mainland with a cold chill, that scent of salt and seaweed and fish. When Maxwell reached the bottom, packed earth and stone, the structures and even docked boats, the smell of fish got even stronger.</p><p>The bins were emptied earlier this morning, though Maxwell had not been here to see it, watching from the edges of main camp instead. The mime had been sent out to finish up the last hitches with the help of the chef, and now that Maxwell was here he could see evidence of Warlys careful, immaculate way of organizing a workspace.</p><p>And he didn't hesitate in starting to dump the lot of it into the ocean, the shadows stoically following his lead.</p><p>(There had been worries plaguing Warly, of course, though the man hadn't spoken up about it. Maxwell knew he was thinking of others, lost farther through the Constant and in places now vastly unreachable, but the other man did not share much with the others when it came to his time here.)</p><p>(His nerves always got the better of him, that one, though Maxwell had slipped over, right before the last goodbyes were said, and whispered a few words to the man as he had stood there, pots and pans and packed cooking supplies in tow.)</p><p>("There is a balance to this," he had said, "and they will find their own way out. Do not worry yourself so much, pal.")</p><p>(Whether it was true or not did not matter to Maxwell; when he had stepped back Warly was noticeably less tense, and had even went so far as to give him one of those 'goodbye' hugs, a short, simple thanks offered in turn.)</p><p>(The man had wanted to see his family again, so desperately, and yet he had still worried himself all day of those he would be leaving behind. It was better, that he not think of that which he had no control over)</p><p>The nets and baskets of tools clattered as they went, fell into the deep coastal waters, and they may end up washing ashore to the beach later on, or perhaps sinking deep into the abyss trenches that lined the Constants shattered oceans, but none of that mattered as Maxwell went along the manmade dock.</p><p>The Think Tank took a bit of effort, and so too did a few of the other sea themed structures, but a few precise kicks and shoves got them tumbling off into the waves just as readily as everything else, and a few even toppled as his shadow doppelgangers banded together and heaved and pushed it all off and away.</p><p>The exertion was going to be a bit much, Maxwell knew, rolling his bruised shoulder from having to shove one of the weighted glass tanks, empty of fish, to splash into the salty waters, but that wouldn't matter in the long run.</p><p>Once the packed ground earth was fairly cleared he turned towards the few boats docked to the dry land, his shadows slowing, calming down, huddled together and watching. He would not burn them, though a part of him wished to do so just for the sake of dying flair.</p><p>No, Maxwell thought, stepping aboard the ship more decked in chests and old boat patches, this would be more subtle.</p><p>The mostly intact Cookie Cutter shell was hefty but hollow in his hands, packed away amongst weapons and healing supplies. He did take a moment to test the old icebox rigged up next to the sail, but it was sealed tightly to the boat and he gave up its empty insides as a lost cause.</p><p>Upon the mast, as he took a squinting look over it and the tied red and white sail at the top, Maxwell eyed the carved initials of 'W' one last time before he bent down in the middle of the boat and started to drill the shell downwards.</p><p>(Wolfgang had not been afraid, for once. He had given heartfelt goodbyes, simple words stating that he wished to see everyone again, and Maxwell had seen no fear in his eyes, only hope.)</p><p>(The hug Wolfgang gave him was entirely unexpected, near crushing the air out of him, as well as the whispered words of thanks that still left him with a bitter thread of confusion to knot up his chest.)</p><p>(Wolfgang had faced that portals promising magics, and he had entered it with no fear.)</p><p>(And Maxwell will always wonder what Wolfgang had thanked him for, whether it was for him kidnapping the man into this hellish plane of a world, or perhaps something even more trivial, worthless.)</p><p>(Maxwell did not let himself think of it. Wolfgang had passed through to where he needed to go, and Maxwell was sure the strongman will not miss this place)</p><p>Even long dead this dreadful creatures shell worked wonders, and while his sleeves were now soaked in salt water Maxwell found it satisfactory enough, uncoiling the mooring that kept the boat in place and tossing it aboard its now water soaking surface. The spout from the punctured hole only grew bigger, old wood splintering and crumbling apart, and with his foot Maxwell nudged the boat, pushing it away and out into the open waters. </p><p>It was already beginning to sink, dip and creak low as the hole broke apart bigger, and Maxwell did not spend any time giving it a last long look.</p><p>The other boats had to be taken care of, so few and yet each made and constructed for different purposes, and Maxwell put holes into each one, the shadows keeping Their distance, just watching. Waiting.</p><p>All boats were empty of contents, and yet still the customizations by each previous owners still stuck around.</p><p>He almost popped the balloons adorning Wes's ship, a smaller, sleek and fast thing that held a set in compass and a cartographer's desk, a chest full of blank papyrus papers. Atop the desk itself was a half finished map; Maxwell gave it a brief look, eyeing the lines and curves of ink, nameless places that stretched out over the oceans horizon.</p><p>(Wes had not said much, before the portal. A few words, hand signs made slowly as to allow some of the others to understand better, and the obvious hugging and goodbye spiels.)</p><p>(Maxwell had not expected the man to approach him, to even look at him in this moment of finally leaving this place. Wes had been trapped here for a long, long time, and Maxwell was the sole reason for that.)</p><p>(It made the tight hug a shock, stiff and unyielding as the lanky man had held him close. There were unspoken words in the air, and while the goodbyes had made many of them cry Wes looked quite awful, paints smeared on his face as he had hugged Maxwell all too tightly, too desperately.)</p><p>(He didn't know what to make of it, mind turning elsewhere already with his plans, already having steeled himself for what he was to do when they all passed through; Wes had given him a long, hard hug, and when the other man had pulled back he had given no explanation, just a wobbly smile and pat on the shoulders before he let Maxwell go.)</p><p> </p><p>(Wes had looked behind him, one last time before walking through the portal. It had felt, for a moment, that his gaze had lingered sorrowfully on Maxwell, just those brief few seconds, before the man had turned away and disappeared forever into the vortex of magic and time and space.)</p><p>(Maxwell knew, very well in fact, that there was nothing left in the Constant for Wes, nothing besides the torture that had ran rampet under the surface chapters, encouraged on by the shadows and Their endless interest.)</p><p>(Wherever the mime ended up, Maxwell was sure he was better off)</p><p>With the last boat pushed out to the merciless waters, water spouting the sprung holes throughout its hefty planks, Maxwell took a step back, tossing the shell out to plop down and sink below the waves. His sleeves were well soaked, as well as the cuffs of his trousers and shoes, but every single boat was disappearing below the sea waters and that was enough of an accomplishment to make up for it.</p><p>There was no reason to have boats moored here, when no one was to use them. The natives of the Constant knew better than to poke their noses into places pawns set foot to.</p><p>With that out of the way, heaving a sigh as Maxwell turned his head to look up at the overcast gray clouds, only a hint of the slow descending sun now, he tried to shake his head and his idle, blank thoughts into order.</p><p>Sometimes one of them nagged, tried to sneak in and worm its way into his chest, to knot and ball and condense into some horrid emotion and understanding of what he had done, but Maxwell was having none of it. He's figured this all out earlier, and he did not need to think of the consequences any longer.</p><p>The shadows all watched him, grouped up, still and silent, judgemental as Maxwell gave them a glance.</p><p>He already knew anyway.</p><p>(Wigfrid had ran into the portal, charged through it as she always did when faced with such a thing as subliminal adversity. Her goodbyes had been rough and excited, swinging those she cared for most with great singing bellows, promising to remember each and every one of them.)</p><p>(She had passed Maxwell by with a look, the only time uncertainty rose up fitful through her eyes, but he had taken the moment to dismiss her sharply, a huff and turn of his head, and it was good enough for her to by pass such awkwardness.)</p><p>(He did not care if she appreciated the discretion or not; Wigfrid hated him, Maxwell knew that very well, and he did not wish to blemish her last goodbyes to a world she had lived her dream life in.)</p><p>(This place was a false fantasy, made of fake promises and it lied, lied so very often, and no matter his discomfort or dislike Maxwell knew the woman deserved better than this hell)</p><p>The walk back up the cliff path was harder, colder; the sea blew in a cold wind, chill that bit deep into his bones and aching limbs. The shadows behind him were clumsy now, weakened, whether by Their lesser lifespans or his own will it did not matter, and all Maxwell allowed himself to focus upon was taking one step after the other, each breath fighting the unsteady wavering that was ever building, pressing in slowly around him. </p><p>He's made his decision, he reminded himself, he figured this all out and knew what had to be done. Clean the map of the pawns influence and it...it will make things easier.</p><p>For who, he did not allow himself to think of. It was far easier, ignoring the pressing in stress of reality, when he was alone with only himself and Their shadows for company.</p><p>Each step up the steep slope was made with eyes cast down, to ignore the distant figures of boats succumbing to the depths, of the waves taking away the plank made dock that his shadows had so easily destabilized, destroyed. The cobblestone had changed into dirt, padded yellow grasses as he followed the fork up to higher ground, and behind him the doppelgangers dismantled every sign post they came across, apathetic to whatever words had once been scrawled there with so much care. </p><p>Here and there, flowers were sprouting about the edges of the walkway; a few times it was a dandelion that caught his eye, but the rest were the more familiarly created blooms, tulip and petunia hybrids, rose mutations and daisy abominations. </p><p>Imagination made reality, once upon a time. </p><p>(Wendy had been quiet, as was to be expected. She was facing a difficult path ahead, outside of this place, through that machine's glorious swell of magic and hopes and dreams.)</p><p>(She held her sister's flower close, a few color dyed silk bands on her wrists, lasting reminders of forever friendship, and Webber had held her hand until the very end, only letting go when she took that last step to cross the border of realities.)</p><p>(Abigail had manifested, for a brief moment after her sister had disappeared. A faint afterimage, a lost twin soul, and it was almost as if she had turned her head, given Maxwell one last, long and saddened look.)</p><p>(He had nodded, given her the go ahead she was looking for, and it was enough for her to swiftly follow Wendy through. No one else had caught it, that fast, blink of an eye moment, but Maxwell had watched his nieces step through that portal and make their way back home.)</p><p>(Maybe, after all they've done here, it'll be easier for them now. They've survived worse here; harsh reality couldn't touch them any longer)</p><p>The shadows left the flowers alone, as Maxwell passed them by; there was an emptiness that had settled inside him since he had shut off the portal, or perhaps even before that, early morning, and there was nothing in him that wished to destroy their beauty, their memory any longer. </p><p>There was no use, no reason to, not any longer. What would he accomplish now, destroying a few lingering flowers?</p><p>As the cliff leveled, as he reached the top, Maxwell minded the half made plank flooring, the inset of marble ground to the edges. More machinery, more chests, more inventions; the top of the cliffs gave vantage point, as he's so heard Wilson tell him, and the old woman had once spoken lightly of the view it offered her when she came up here to read. </p><p>(Out of them all, Wickerbottom seemed the most calm before the portal. She looked upon it with no sense of fear or anxious anticipation; only a determined, somewhat relieved hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of her lips.)</p><p>(She had hugged everyone, a quiet, silent for once action. A few words, advice here or there, a stern goodbye to Wilson that turned almost half jokingly into a pun that had him chuckle a laugh bordering a weak sob, and near everyone had returned her farewells with just as much, if not more so sadness in seeing her off with a goodbye.)</p><p>(She had given Maxwell a look, a long, cold stern one, and when Wickerbottom had suddenly pulled him into a hug, voice already choked up a bit from her earlier words, the old woman had expressed something that almost sounded like <i>appreciation</i> into his ear, quiet and only between them.)</p><p>("You've grown," she told him, older than him, just as brittle and yet even sounder of mind, a last gentle squeeze, "and I am glad to call you my equal and peer.")</p><p>(It had stunned him, what a few little words could so deeply mean. In the end he had almost missed her last little wave to them all, an upturn to her face and brow that gave her an almost mischievous elderly look, and her last parting words, of another adventure ahead for them all.)</p><p>(...Perhaps what lay ahead for her was to be another adventure then. Maxwell could only hope so)</p><p> </p><p>The shadow doppelgangers helped him topple the aging bookshelves over, off the cliffs and into the sea. Their contents, magic and abandoned by their owner who remembered them all by heart and who knew the danger they all carried within their pages, fell one by one, pages and flapping bindings and covers, all dropping in an uncaring mess that mattered to no one any longer.</p><p>Wurt had her parting gift of favorite books already, Maxwell knew; he had watched on the sidelines as Wickerborrom had handed each over and helped explain titles and summaries and chapters. These tomes were not comparable to the Codex, and as such were useless for him to consider keeping.</p><p>As if there was a reason to keep material objects any longer.</p><p>A few weeped, as they were dumped, lost and forgotten into the Constants waters, but their words will be swallowed down once again, transcribed and scripted far into the future by hands unknown by all of the present. </p><p>Maxwell had no doubts of such things, as he cleared away any evidence of the living atop this tall cliff peak and its far below sea crashing waves. Even after all that has happened, the battles and fights the pawns have survived through and won, the Constant was not being left as a dead place. </p><p>It'll live, as will They, and everything else that has grown here. Give or take a few centuries, a millennium or two, but there was no end to an endless reality. </p><p>No such thing for himself, Maxwell knew, or the others who have long left. Mortality did not work that way, no matter how far removed a few of them have become with their time here.</p><p>The shadows lingered, now that the job was done, and by this point the walking and work had taken its toll; he was exhausted, and feeling a bit more bruised up than usual. Survival here took a lot out of a person, and he has done his fair share while camping with the others, but now the world was quieter than it has ever been for a very, very long time.</p><p>And Maxwell was tired.</p><p>It only took a half hearted gesture, a commanding thought, and his doppelgangers each turned on their heel, sluggish but determined, and took off in three different directions. Down the cliff they went, and he watched them for a few moments before letting the rattling sigh that had been building up in his chest finally ease out of him. </p><p>There was no place to sit now, torn apart floorboards and the rugged dips and holes from the marble flooring being pulled up by shadow talons and shadow strength, so instead the old man let himself shakily settle by the cliff edge; the ground here hadn't been fully cleared or flattened out yet, so the grass was greener and there were still a few small flowers adorning the crumbling earth. Nothing much, really, but finally sitting down with no intention to get back up any time soon was a good bit of weight off his shoulders.</p><p>In his mind's eye, Maxwell could see the paths of his shadows, split up and already tackling what he knew he could not. There wasn't much left, of course; the gardens, for one, once maintained by the children and more heavily plotted out by Higgsbury, and then the flower plots and bee boxed land only a mile or so out of the way from those paths. But, from what he's heard, they had been demolished and packed up already, and as one shadow drew in close, faster on its feet now that it did not lag behind his own steps, he could see the evidence of such.</p><p>A few bees buzzed on by his doppleganger, released from the wooden box and hive moved into a nearby tree, and already the little workers were pasting thick honey and comb work onto the bark, encasing the birch and making it their own. No gates or furrowed land caged the flowers any longer, and already a few of the dark flora were rooting out, slimy and twitchy and engorging the free space like the weeds that they were. </p><p>There wasn't much left to dismantle there.</p><p>(Wx78 had come to camp with only a few packs in tow; old rusting gears, and vials of dark flower fuel essence. They did not have much to say, and when they did it was apathetic, uncaring; they planned to move on, and cared not for any of the flesh beings they have survived so long with.)</p><p>(Words they spoke, but their actions spoke louder; Maxwell had watched as Webber offered up their parting gift, and the robot had slowly toppled into a crouch to allow the flower garland to be settled atop their head. His nieces had no such present, but Wx78 had allowed their hand to be held for a few moments as they waited their turn to the portal, Wendy and Abigail on one side, Webber on the other, and the robot had never been social, never been friendly, but the children had taken to them all the same and the others had followed suit.)</p><p>(There had been no goodbyes, no such words from the automaton, but Wes had patted their arm and Wilson didn't touch them but said a few words of his own, individual farewells that seemed to slow the robots every step until they were still before the portal, hissing up steam and insides clanking with grinding gears, hands held by the children for a last parting moment and words spoken to them by every organic being they had made an impression upon in this life, no matter their own dislike or distaste for such.)</p><p>(Even Maxwell did something; a simple wave didn't mean much, a plain hand gesture to see them off, but Wx78 had looked at each of them in turn, eyelights flashing and puffing up clouds of distressed steam, tear trails of oils leaking from the gaps in their metal being, and for a moment it was as if the android cried silently for the lot of them, not quite understanding and yet knowing full well what it all meant.)</p><p>(As Maxwell knew from experience, it was hard to distance oneself when surrounded by the stubborn. Apparently, this applied even to the misplaced lone robot.)</p><p>(They hadn't looked back, of course, stepping through that swirling mass into the dark, smokey world they knew they'd find themself in; Wx78 didn't have the capacity to feel or understand regret and hesitance.)</p><p>(They made the choice to move on, and Maxwell silently commended them on such a decision)</p><p>The shadow continued on, as another took down the garden gates and fences, tan and brown and even painted white, frivolous unrealized dreams that have now come true from the portals promise, and the third was already well into the work of destroying the small waypoints out in the deeper forests, emptying chests of silk and unprepared glands, stomping the drying racks of monster flesh and tearing apart any tents. </p><p>It would be too damaging to burn these ones, and instead his shadow laid waste to the evidence of civility, allowing the forest to take it all back instead. Already silk silver webbing was starting to spread out there, unregulated now, returning to the wild chaos of beastal nature.</p><p>The spiders crawling out watched his shadow as it went about its duties, and they were unusually quiet, sullen; they knew one of their number was missing, and would never return.</p><p>Not in the way they knew of, anyway.</p><p>(Webber had, of course, been quite a handful. They seemed torn between the excitement, the quiet fear and then barely contained grief at having to say goodbye, and yet the anticipation of walking through that portal overwhelmed them entirely. Surrounded by the others, excitedly hopping about, helping pack and clean up and get ready, the child had seemed rather happy.)</p><p>(And then Wilson had sat down with them, explaining a "plan", Wickerbottom bringing Wendy over as they talked, and Maxwell eventually had been dragged in when Webber's vague hints of distress, and realization, was starting to get out of hand. They had clung to him for a bit while Wilson explained what they should do if the portal brought them somewhere else, and whenever those round blank spider eyes flashed up to him Maxwell silently played along...unwilling to get himself more involved than he already was.)</p><p>(It was a bit too late, to distance himself now, but any little bit helps. Eventually disentangling the spider paws clinging to his gloved claws, a few quiet excuses of needing to keep working, <i>something</i> to get him out of this mess, and Webber was distressed and overwhelmed but Wilson has always been good at handling them and Maxwell was just not up for it.)</p><p>(The goodbye had been the hard part; Webber had hugged everybody, long and tight and unwilling to let go too early, and when they had gotten to Maxwell they had buried their spider mandible face to his chest and it had been...been a horrible moment, feeling them shake and whimper spider sound, before they had to put on that brave little face and enter the portal alone.)</p><p>(They were going home, Maxwell knew, and his memories of what he knew atop the Throne were spotty by now but it settled heavy and dark in his chest, watching that small silhouette outlined by the vast energies of the universe, looking up into the unknown and then slowly turning their head, a last small glance to everything they have come to know and love.)</p><p>(Wilson had waved, a few last encouraging words and promises Maxwell knew would never be kept, and then the spider child had taken in all their courage, boundless and powerful after all their time here, and took those steps into the world and life ahead of them.)</p><p>(The portal had spat out the spider, a few moments later in the quiet afterwards. It had been disoriented, confused and unsteady on its legs, a runty thing frazzled up and shaking, wide eyes seeing and understanding too much for the arachnid to comprehend fully.)</p><p>(Maxwell had been the one to gently nudge it to the forest; it bared its fangs at him, nervous and scared, but didn't bite as he ushered it on its way, greasy bristly furs cradled in his gloved hands before gently releasing it to where it was meant to go.)</p><p>(It was going home, after so long being separated away.)</p><p>(Maxwell hoped the child got just as good of a reception as their other half got here, surrounded by safety and familiar faces. Perhaps now, after everything that has happened, Webber can truly find their way home)</p><p>As his shadows continued their work, breaking down the lasting marks left behind by the survivors, clearing the Constant of all that it had been home to, Maxwell sat atop the cliff and watched the sun set.</p><p>They wouldn't get too far from him, or much done, but the constant stream of semi conscious understanding between them all, shared and recognized and distracted, helped calm the building twisted sickening mess inside his chest. It was something to keep his thoughts off of it all, his mind away from...from what it all meant.</p><p>One of his shadows had neared the now fully burned down main camp, simmering embers and trailing smoke signals that the dusk sky swallowed up. Heated metal, twisted and melted and still glowing in parts, were passed over as the doppelganger moved on; much of the remains still discernible were too distorted to identify fully, but even so its steps paused a hesitant moment, a few seconds as it eyed a glowing charred mass nestled in the blackened hull of what could have been the alchemy machine.</p><p>A remnant, a simple battery like device, and for a moment Maxwell had to close his eyes, force the shadows steps to continue onwards; he remembered how, just yesterday, Wilson had taken a moment to relax from working the portal and instead fixing up some of the fried wiring inside the camps machines. It hadn't been too big of an issue, a few minutes at most, and Wilson had deftly used his claws to dig inside the engines wire and gear filled guts, plucked out the problem and then, with a skill learned from memory and experience, twisted up and coiled the bad wiring before slotting it right back in without a single pause. An easy fix, something to help ease the self proclaimed scientists mind from the stress of his main project, and Maxwell had hovered nearby and made small talk, letting his own hands fiddle and dally with adjusting a Life Amulet, just enough to make him look busy.</p><p>The Amulets had no use now, he knew. There would be no reason for them to work any longer, not with the shadows pulled back and sleeping the pains away, and the fuel Maxwell has relied upon for so much was now just slimy waste by product and nothing more.</p><p>Without the pawns, the intune magics moved on. He knew he could always find loopholes, even the silent Codex in his jacket still leaked its inky black tears, but...the Constant sustained itself differently when there were no audience, no stage actors.</p><p>It would be long past Maxwell's, and any other pawns, time before They had the strength conserved to try once more. Without a leader, a monarch, ruler, tyrant, They had little left.</p><p>(Charlie had been quiet, those last few seasons before the portal's completion. Working with Wilson, encouraged on by Winona, the woman Maxwell had thought he had known oh so well, so very long ago, started to shed her ties to the shadows and bloom into her new, chosen, role. The survivors of Maxwell's reign, and thus hers, were rather forgiving; by that time the Constant was a changed beast, and it ticked along on its own clock, tied to Them and shadows, to the pawns, and growing as a reality outside of whatever fairy tale Maxwell had once thought up in his own cold, dark and empty mindscape.)</p><p>(Charlie gave the Constant growth, and perhaps that was why her dethroning was received so well, so...friendly.)</p><p>(It did not matter, of course; when that portal was finished, she stood beside her sister and watched as Wilson broke the news, watched as the excitement and trepidation mounted, and Maxwell still remembered enough of her old self to see the happiness glimmer in her eyes.)</p><p>(He hadn't forced a conversation between them, in all that time before the new portal was constructed, and, to him, she seemed appreciative of the distance. It was her right, after all, to choose how and when she would speak to him, and if the answer was never then so be it.)</p><p>(Maxwell understood enough by then how deeply his actions have cut into the others, how little he could do to fix it besides be amicable, be passive enough to not get himself exiled or banished or, worse, executed. He survived well, alongside the others, when he took the lengths needed to not step on any toes.)</p><p>(He's been here long enough to understand that fighting back would dig his grave deeper than it already was.)</p><p>(Charlie shrugged the nightmares off her, shackles of the Throne left in the dust and sand and emptiness, and when those terrors came back to haunt her Winona was there to remind her of who she was, or at least who she wanted to be. Maxwell did not blame his former long lost friend, nor did he feel the envy of her support as sharply as he used to; Charlie had never been a Tyrant, after all. There had been no torture, no sadism in her reign; she was a good person, after all, and he's always known that.)</p><p>(When she faced that portal, last goodbyes given, a long hug to Wilson and whispered words exchanged between each other before taking Winona's hand, sisters set to clear the threshold together, Charlie had not glanced even once over to Maxwell.)</p><p>(And he did not feel any ill will towards her for it.)</p><p>The sun was dipping, overshadowed warm hued crimson dark colors by the clouds and overcast weather brewing out upon the seas. The rays shot out, bathed the salty waters, and under him Maxwell listened to the waves crash against the cliffs, the rocky outcropping and jagged stones poking out from below. His shadows did their duties, their due diligence, <i>his</i> due diligence, and the cold winds brought in from the ocean swept through his suit, dug teeth to the marrow of his bones.</p><p>Maxwell sat, closing his eyes and listening, feeling, and it was very, very quiet.</p><p>The Constant was going to be a silent place, after today, and the sun continued on its path down, curving and slowly darkening the skys blue black, purple tinted in approaching night. Without any monarchs extending reach, the stars and cracked moon would shine tonight.</p><p>Without a Grue, Maxwell would normally live to see it.</p><p>The building, twisting knotting thing in his chest coiled, nipped and gnawed and snapped its silent screaming, wailing jaws, and Maxwell-</p><p>-sucked in a deep breath of the salty cold air, held it inside him for a few moments longer, and then, when he exhaled it out in a deep drawn out sigh, it took the weight in him out with it.</p><p>The shadows, fragments of himself and pulled taunt in the distance between each other, helped do this. It had been his plan since the portal's completion, after all, and everything has gone to plan.</p><p>His throat felt...clogged, a bit swollen shut for a moment as he swallowed thickly, but Maxwell kept his eyes closed, hands in his lap, shoulders fallen and as relaxed as he could make himself. Everything has gone to plan.</p><p>He was almost done.</p><p>Another breath, another soft sigh that pulled the strings of stress from his lungs and tossed them to float empty in the chilly air, invisible to the naked eye, and then Maxwell slowly opened up his suit jacket and pulled out the Codex.</p><p>It didn't weep, not anymore; a silent cold tome, breathing quiet in the pulses of lifeblood that still struggled through the Constants wide veins, and Maxwell laid his palm upon its cover and found himself almost missing the warm heartbeat he has grown so familiar in feeling from within.</p><p>His shadows briefly paused, half stumbled on their paths, and there was questioning exchanged between them all, but Maxwell did not throw the book off into the greedy waves, the hungry sea.</p><p>So, instead he swept a hand over it one last time, a vain attempt to ease the nostalgia inside him, and the still simmering ache, but with every breath he was...sending that away, far away to the back corners of his fragmented shadow minds. </p><p>His plan had succeeded, much like Higgsburys had.</p><p>Wilson had built the portal, and Maxwell now finished the job.</p><p>(Wilson hadn't been much of a leader, in all lives he's lived within the Constant, but his excited chatter, his growing joy at having <i>finally</i> created what he set out to create, had sparked something within the others and they had all looked to him for direction.)</p><p>(Less than a day of packing, hurried and tripping and throwing so much nonsense together, bags of what might be useful outside of the Constant, gems and gold and thulcite, moon glass and stone, and all the while Wilson had talked up a storm. Questions, and then answers, and then more questions, wondering where they'd all turn up, devising ways to meet together, what should be done about his house, how he had to clean it, those red mushroom spores inside the bathroom had to be taken care of at some point-)</p><p>(And Maxwell had made no attempt to hide his listening ear, keeping close, keeping alert, fine tuning the details to his own plans as the reality of the portal fell in piece by piece throughout this reality, this Constant. Wilson had been so, so very excited.)</p><p>(And Maxwell had not taken that away from him; there had been a certain point, after falling from grace upon the Throne, where he would no longer steal away what little the others garnered for themselves in this harsh hellish world, whether it be shared companionable words or comforting material objects, and Wilson was not treated any differently.)</p><p>(...perhaps, perhaps he had been treated with more respect in that regard. Maxwell could not identify the feeling that had taken root inside his chest, that which had long replaced what had once been his heart as it grew and grew, but he found no way to kill or cultivate, to grow or wither, and as such let it be.)</p><p>(In the end, all he knew was that he would never take another thing from Wilson ever again.)</p><p>(And, technically, it seems that he has fulfilled that promise to himself.)</p><p> </p><p>(...when Wilson had stepped through that portal, he had been the last. Whether due to seeing himself as gentleman, or perhaps concern for the others and needing to make sure each and every one of them made it through safely, it did not matter; Maxwell had stood there beside him, watched and listened and steadily grew quieter and quieter, colder and colder, until the very end.)</p><p>(Almost gave him the Codex, but the old former Nightmare King had enough in him to prevent that. He's made enough mistakes, and now he'll clean up the last of the mess he has left behind.)</p><p>(There had been words, unspoken when the other man had turned to him, a long few moments spent, and Wilsons searched his eyes but Maxwell knew already what there was to see and kept himself distanced, just enough. Perhaps, if things had been different, his crumbling walls would have collapsed and his plans ruined.)</p><p>(But, the audience behind that portal's magics were never meant to see the end of that magic trick, were they? A last final showing and the magician disappears, never to be seen again.)</p><p>(<i>It's for the best</i>, he had almost said to Wilson, but Maxwell had caught himself in time, twisted the words enough, distracted enough,)</p><p>
  <i>(you go first, pal)</i>
</p><p>
  <i>(I'll be right behind you, I swear)</i>
</p><p>(...so easy to lie, even then, and Wilson almost seemed unsure, raised a hand as if to offer something else, to take them both back, together, but the portal creaked and groaned its magics and a wild red bird called a trilling song in the distance and Maxwell had huffed, put on a show, his pathetic finale, and urged the man, who had been both last and first to ever enter the Constant in the infinite mixed up tangles of its timeline, to take that step forward-)</p><p>(-and <i>go home</i>.)</p><p> </p><p>(And he did)</p><p>It would be dark, soon, Maxwell knew, and he gently set the Codex by his side, ran his gloved claws down its cover, its spine, and it didn't even offer him a last shiver, a last whimper. It knew it was safe by now and lay dormant, patient. </p><p>Maybe someday it'll get picked up once more, elsewhere, but that someday was far, far from what Maxwell knew would be his time.</p><p>The green grasses bundled around the black tome, a few flowers bending and then nuzzled low, gracing that blazed crimson emblem, that last 'M', with their fine colored blossoms; one even fell low enough to touch, to lean against.</p><p>A dandelion, Maxwell recognized slowly, and, for a mere moment, the weight inside himself bore down hard, heavy, choking and suffocating and in an overwhelming flashing disaster of <i>what have I done-</i></p><p>Before his shadows conscious thoughts flowed back through to him, eased into his mind, and Maxwell pulled his hands away from his face, forced his aching legs down into a stretch from where he had almost tried to curl up, and his shoes, so worn and different from how shined and ready for the stage as they once had been, hung over the edge of the cliff itself.</p><p>A cold wind blew, as the sun kissed the horizon, rapid in its approach, its disappearance below the far outstretching waters. The thick clouds bundled, moving sluggish across the darkening sky.</p><p>Maxwell took a deep, deep breath, let it out slow, and closed his eyes for a little while longer as his shadows erased the last bits of survivor evidence atop the Constant, its deep forests and vast deserts, mountains and gullies and wooded pig villages.</p><p>The Constant would be silent, tomorrow, and would stay quiet for as long as it took Them to wake up, come crawling back.</p><p>And the former Nightmare King sat there atop the cliffs, listening to the world that was once his breath silently to itself, as night fell upon him one last time.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>